


Skulltula

by Queakenstein



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Hero of Time, Legend of Zelda - Freeform, Ocarina of Time, Spiders, mentions of mummified animals, skulltula
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queakenstein/pseuds/Queakenstein
Summary: The smell of dust and mildew billows from the home as moonlight filters behind the intruder. His nose shrivels up, hand jerking away from the old handle to clasp across his face, as he turns away with a cough.Death.He smells death too.





	Skulltula

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Скултулла](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705585) by [maybeheir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeheir/pseuds/maybeheir)



Fingers coil around the cold metal of a doorknob but hesitates before, slowly, turning the mechanism. The smell of dust and mildew billows from the home as moonlight filters behind the intruder. His nose shrivels up, hand jerking away from the old handle to clasp across his face, as he turns away with a cough.

Death.

He smells death too and his heart drops to his stomach at the thought. A part of him says that it was never his responsibility to help these people but, the majority of him, says that it always has been. He makes them his obligation and that he wouldn’t have it another way…

The knot in his gut twists and he remembers the faces of the people in the house. The bag tied to his waist, suddenly, feels very heavy.

Oh, yes, he had promised to help them. He had sworn that he would return to lift the curse… he had been but a boy then if not in body then in mind. He had not realized the extent of the task he had taken on. It had taken him so long to find them all…Today, he is a wholly a man nearing his twenty-eighth birthday but he can feel that ten year old child crawling out of his chest. _“Don’t go in.”_ The lad whispers, finding a voice in the swirling thoughts in his head. The man dismisses him, stepping over the threshold, and ignoring the way his hand trembles as it brushes away cobwebs. The sound and feeling of something crunching underneath his boot startles him but it becomes commonplace as he continues onward and he is no longer fazed. He remembers the simplicity of the home. There were not many rooms but there were much more than any other in the village could afford. Six individual bedrooms, a washroom, a dining area conjoined with the kitchen, and an attic. The disrepair the home was in made it impossible to venture very far into the residence even when he had first stumbled into it.

The crumbling roof provides little light beyond the entryway but he is prepared. He pulls a small torch out of his belt, lighting it with the help of a flint, and holds it out. He tries not to drop it when he finds himself standing on a bed of carcasses. Rats, cats, dogs, and even a stray cucco lie in bony, mummified, or freshly mangled heaps.

He feels no shame as his lunch joins the filth.

“ _You_.” A voice, if you could call it that, rasps from behind the veil of darkness that his torch does not reach. “I _know_ you.”

He wonders, briefly, if he there are any human remains hiding among the bodies and rests on the hilt of his blade. “Do you know me as friend… or as foe?” His voice is not as deep as it usually is and he is vaguely aware of the fear swelling in his chest. The knuckles of his sword hand hurt as their adjoining fingers curl around the weapon.

“A _child_. I knew you as a child.” The sound is closer now and Link is trying to place the face only remembering the mangled faces he had met long ago… he could not recall how to distinguish them.

“That does not answer my question.” He does not mean to sound so hostile. The intent of this visit is not to do battle so he presses on with what he hopes is a friendlier tone. “Few mean to do harm to children–”

“You believe... that I mean to harm you, now?”

“I–I trust that you will not.”

“If I did?”

He pauses and decides to just be blunt. “I came here to mourn a grave failure.” He swallows. “I would not blame you if you mean to kill me.”

“Out of vengeance?”

“Aye.” He answers, recognizing the voice is much closer. He can hear light tapping coming from above.

“You thought we were dead?”

His torch flickers but he knows it will not go out. The tinkering of spidery steps halt and he knows that if he steps forward that it would reveal his– companion. “Curses are odd things.”

“Curses are indeed.” Tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap. A long slender black leg slips from the shadows followed by another then joined by a sickeningly pale arm though that might be the most human thing about it. A face stretched out along the abdomen in the shape of a skull smiles at him for there are no lips to hide it’s teeth. The eyes hold no color or direction but the man feels as if they are upon him. “We are not dead. Though it might be best that we were.”

“Am I too late then?” The bag tied to his waist feels as if it may rip open as if the objects inside are clawing at the fabric.

Those eyes snap straight to his face and remain there. “Y-You have them?”

He simply cuts away the rope holding the sack and lets it crash to the floor. Gold medallions in the shape of skulls spill across the bones and dust to glimmer in the man’s meek torchlight. “Yes. They’re yours, of course.”

From all around him, he hears those eerie tapping footsteps come scurrying forth and he is greeted with five other mutilated faces and bodies.

“We are free.”


End file.
